


“Next Time, He’s Going To Be Real Good For Us.”

by hockies



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockies/pseuds/hockies
Summary: “The Flyers’ long standing tradition. It’s only invoked when someone is scratched for disciplinary reasons, and he’s never seen it happen since he’s been a member of the team, but he’d signed the contract, just like everyone else. He’s going to have to take it.“This all started because someone said to me, “scratching TK is dumb. That’s not even the fun kind of punishment!”This is, quite simply and with very little nuance, a fic where anyone who is healthy scratched has to get spanked. Hard.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	“Next Time, He’s Going To Be Real Good For Us.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Scratching TK is dumb. That’s not even the fun kind of punishment!” 
> 
> This was uhhh an idea that was born during a discussion yesterday about how if the Flyers were going to humiliate TK like that, they might as well do it in a fun, kinky way.
> 
> And then I didn’t want to write it and was just going to write up a like, chatfic summary of what I wanted to happen, but then I decided that I’d at least write snippets and tie the snippets together and well... all that to say, this isn’t the BEST and it’s very speedily jotted down, but at least it isn’t chatfic? Idk idk.
> 
> ALSO “next time he’s going to be in the line up, he’s going to be real good for us” is an ACTUAL quote from AV, Jesus Christ. The title is from there.

He knows he’ll have to take it, just like he has to sit with the frustration of having to watch his teammates play without being able to help them. His skin is still buzzing from that, his hands too restless, squeezing into a fist like he wants to punch something. Holy fuck, does he ever want to punch something.

He can’t seem to separate the guilt from the “how fucking dare they” in his head ever since they told him he was scratched. Sure, maybe he hasn’t been playing his best, but it’s not fucking fair, because he’s been performing. Did they fucking miss the hatty? Was that a god damn fever dream?

None of it matters though, because he knows what has to happen before he can come back into the lineup.

The Flyers’ long standing tradition. It’s only invoked when someone is scratched for disciplinary reasons, and he’s never seen it happen since he’s been a member of the team, but he’d signed the contract, just like everyone else. He’s going to have to take it.

Travis knows he can take a lot; fuck it, he can take one god damn spanking. Especially when he’s hyped up on so much adrenaline and white hot rage, which is finally serving to shove the shame into a tiny corner of his brain where he doesn’t have to look at it.

Get this the fuck over with, he thinks, as he walks down the empty hall towards the locker room. His teammates must have cleared out pretty fast. They knew that he’d be coming, what was going to happen, and they probably wanted to save Travis a bit of his dignity. Not that he had much to begin with.

But yeah, let’s fucking go, Travis thinks, steeling himself as he presses the locker room door open to meet his disciplinarian. He can fucking do this.

And then he immediately changes his mind.

Because it’s Nolan.

“Fuck, no,” Travis spits, letting the door swing shut behind him, eyes wide. “Not a chance, bud.”

“Teeks, come on,” Nolan says quietly. His arms are folded across his chest.

“No,” he says again, turning towards the door, but it’s shut now. He doesn’t know how much trouble he’d get in if he opened it and walked out.

“It’s going to be okay,” Nolan says, voice familiar. The situation, though, is anything but. Travis can feel his heart pounding it’s way out of his check. Why. Why did it have to be him.

“Why the fuck is it you?” Travis asks, failing very spectacularly at keeping his desperation out of his voice.

Nolan winces and Travis watches the pink climb higher on his cheeks the way he’s done a thousand times. 

“I didn’t think you’d want anyone else to see you like... that.”

Travis laughs, a bitter, angry laugh. “And you thought I’d be cool with _you_.”

Nolan drops his head, mumbles something Travis can’t quite hear. He steps forward, meeting Nolan in the middle of the room.

“You what, Patty? You thought hey, TK is cool. We’re buddies. He’ll probably be fine with one of his closest fucking friends beating his ass until he cries.”

“I didn’t,” Nolan starts and stops. He meets Travis’ eyes again, apparently startled into it by the idea that Travis would ever cry. He wouldn’t, nobody gets to see him cry, that’s beside the point, but Travis is going for _emphasis_.

“You didn’t what, Patty, spit it out.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to see you like that.” Nolan says it in a rush, but it’s firm. “Nobody else... only me.”

And there it is, because fuck. The only way Travis will be able to deal this is to steel himself. He’s got to wrap himself in apathy, let the team take it out on his physical body, but not get at his mind, and Nolan...

He can’t do that if it’s Nolan. Nolan is behind every wall he has.

He can’t really unpack a possessive Nolan Patrick at this moment, let alone the fact that the thing Nolan is apparently possessive over is the right to take Travis apart.

In the harsh yellow lights in the middle of the room, Nolan can’t hide his nerves. It makes Travis a bit angrier, really, because fuck that, he’s the one who should be nervous. He’s the one who is about to get...

And yet, this is Nolan, and the instinct to comfort and protect him lives deep in Travis’ gut, even in this.

“Fine,” Travis says, relaxing his shoulders and giving Nolan the smirk that Travis knows he needs, “you gonna teach me a lesson, bud? I’d like to fucking see it.” 

Travis sees the moment that it works. Sees Nolan’s mouth drop open for the briefest of seconds before it presses itself into that thin, annoyed expression that Travis just loves bringing out.

Yeah, this is a dynamic Travis is very familiar with.

“As if you’ve ever been dominant a day in your fucking life, Patty,” Travis goads. 

“Take off your pants, Travis,” Nolan says, firm, and it’s cute, really, pretty funny even.

“Yes, sir,” Travis snorts, unable to keep the smile off his face.

It doesn’t last long, because he’s snapped to attention by a firm hand grasping the back of his neck and _squeezing_.

“Take. Your fucking. Pants off. Travis.”

Nolan’s voice is deep and dangerous. Travis doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound like that before, and where the hell has he been hiding that?

He’s suddenly hot all over as he fumbles with his pants, pressing them down, boxers too.

He’s barely stepped out of them, stumbling a little, one foot tangling, when Nolan yanks him across the room to one of them benches, and suddenly this is very real, because.

Because he’s sprawled across Nolan’s lap, bare ass exposed, cock trapped against the leg of Nolan’s game day suit, his fingers grappling to find purchase on the wooden bench beside him.

And Nolan’s fucking hands. Jesus.

One of them comes to rest on Travis’ ass, rubbing softly across both cheeks on its way, and fuck. Travis forgot how big his best friend’s hands are. How big and strong and capable.

“Take a breath, Teeks,” Nolan says, but he doesn’t give him much time to do that before the aforementioned hand lifts up and then cracks down on Travis’s left ass cheek.

The first blow startles an, “oh fuck,” out of him, but he doesn’t have time for anything else before Nolan spanks him again, the other cheek this time.

“Ow, fuck, Nolan...”

“Shhh,” Nolan says, that low, dangerous rumble, “just take it, Travis.”

And then he’s spanking him for real, hard and firm, slap after slap.

It stings, at first, especially paired with the way Travis is absolutely mortified by the sound of each hard slap, skin on skin, echoing through the empty locker room. The stinging dulls after a moment to a warmer sort of pain. Travis has been squeezing his eyes shut, but he relaxes a bit as he starts to anticipate each fall of Nolan’s big, relentless palm.

Nolan gives him a few more, hard and fast, before he slows and then stops. Travis can feel how hot his ass is when Nolan’s hand starts rubbing softly over the warmed flesh he’s just been abusing. Travis feels his other hand come up to rest on the back of his neck, a comforting gesture, and Travis sighs.

“We’re not done,” Nolan mutters softly as his fingers softly stroke the nape of Travis’ neck. Travis closes his eyes and nods.

Nolan takes him apart over the next hour. Travis isn’t proud of the way he yells out, pleading sometimes, his voice cracking on “I’m sorry”s and on the numbers Nolan makes him count out.

His clothes get discarded, his suit on the floor while Nolan remains in his the entire time, but Travis is so far past humiliation that it barely even registers.

Nolan makes him plead and beg and hushes him in between, comforting and keeping him safe but still saying a firm, “no”, when Travis asks desperately if they’re done yet, can they please be done now, Nolan, please.

“No.” Nolan says each time, and Travis can’t help the way his cock jumps, even as it’s trapped against the wood of the benches where Nolan has him spread out now.

“You’re not sorry enough yet.” Nolan says, and Travis gasps desperately.

“I need a darker red than this,” Nolan says.

“You missed a count, start over,” Nolan says.

“You can take more,” Nolan says.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Nolan says.

He swears and curses and kicks and thrashes and Nolan holds firm through it all, as if he expected it. As if he were used to it.

It’s only when the tears come that Nolan stops, gathers Travis up into his lap and says, “shh, we’re done, we’re done, it’s over, babe, it’s okay.”

Travis clutches at him desperately, his ass on fire, face presses into the front of Nolan’s shirt. He can’t stop babbling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Nolan, I’m so sorry,” and Nolan is clutching too.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Nolan is easing him up, helping him into his clothes, or no, not his clothes, not his suit, but one of Nolan’s humongous hoodies, soft and cavernous. Travis’ bones feel like liquid as Nolan helps him into a pair of shorts, tears prickling again at the corners of his eyes as the elastic snaps past his ass cheeks. Nolan winces as much as Travis does, says, “sorry, babe” softly as he gathers up the rest of their things.

Nolan never leaves his side, holds him steady, holds him up as they exit the locker room. Travis hides his face when he sees AV and Chuck in the corridor.

“It’s done,” Nolan says, and Travis presses his face into Nolan’s sweater harder and breaths. He says nothing when Chuck nods and turns to shake hands with AV. He’s fucking sure his desperate, puffy eyes and tear stained face say it all anyway. And the locker room, well. They all know it’s not soundproof.

“You’ll be back in the lineup tomorrow,” Travis hears them say, but he just keeps breathing and lets Nolan nod for him, let’s Nolan pull him down the hall towards the exit.

“Take me home,” he says, quietly, voice wrecked, and Nolan does.


End file.
